


Fiskborn 2: Electric Boogaloo

by neverweremine



Category: Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon 2012)
Genre: Bad Spelling & Grammar, Crack, M/M, Obliviousness, Post-Season/Series 04, Yearning, inconsistent tenses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverweremine/pseuds/neverweremine
Summary: Read the pairing and then look inside yourself and ask : "Do I really want to do this?" and then click on the fic anyway because your curiosity won't be sated until you at least skim through this monstrosity.
Relationships: Wilson Fisk/Norman Osborn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1





	Fiskborn 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one go and I refuse to look at it ever again so there's gonna be bad SPAG and inconsistent tenses and we're all just going to have to live with that.

Peter didn't quite know how he got here, strapped to a table with one and a half bad guys hovering over him. Oh wait, yes he did.

.

It started at the Oscorp Penthouse. Norman had taken a rare day off and they were having family game night. They had pulled out Monopoly, thought better of playing a game based on capitalism against a multimillionaire CEO, and somehow ended up pantomiming in a game of charades. Peter was currently in the lead, but surprisingly Norman wasn't too far behind. Harry on the other hand, had a habit of anger-grunting the answer from the side of his mouth halfway through his turn, instantly disqualifying him.

They were taking a ten minute break before deciding on the next game to play when Norman turned to him and said, "I know I've said it before, but I can't say it enough. Thank you for coming by, Peter. You make these game nights more lively."

He smiled, "No problem, Mr. Osborn. You know I'm happy to drop by anytime, game night or no game night."

"Regardless, a two person game night doesn't sound very fun, does it? And I know you're very busy with SHIELD and being Spider-Man, so…"

"Well," said Peter, very reasonably, he thought, which was the first warning sign that things were heading to shit, "Have you ever considered inviting someone else to game night? A friend, colleague, unknown family member that I've never thought about," and here, because he can never keep his mouth shut and doesn't know when to quit, he elbows Norman gently on the side, "a _special someone?"_

It's ribbing. That's all it is. Nothing serious. He doesn't expect Mr. Osborn to duck his head or hunch his shoulders. He doesn't expect the poignant silence or the red that creeps his best friend's dad neck. Peter Parker lives in New York and swings around as the ultimate Spider-Man; he's seen incredible and amazing things and he's envisioned seeing many more, but somehow, a bashful Norman Osborn was never on the list.

Harry, who had been busy noisily searching for games in their very extensive, very large game collection nearby, stills and quiets. He's heard. And yet, he's not moving, so the ball is solely in Peter's court. That's great. Peter was always terrific at sports.

The Flash Thompson in Peter's head, reformed but still somewhat a bully, laughs.

"So who's the lucky lady?" he asks outright, because subtlety and tact are for losers.

Norman doesn't say anything for a hot second and there's a brief panic of having overstepped, but then Norman throws his head back, squares his shoulders and softly corrects, "Lucky _man_." He doesn't elaborate further and Peter shoots a frantic glance at his best friend.

' _Did you know your Dad was gay?'_ Peter conveys via his rapidly moving eyes.

Harry lifts his shoulders up in a shrug. ' _I had no clue,'_ the shrug says.

Peter squints at Harry. He's… pretty sure Norman is Harry's biological dad. He jerks his chin at Harry. ' _Wait, is he gay or bi?'_ he tries to ask.

Again, Harry lifts his shoulders in a bigger shrug. Whether it's to the silent question or to the gestures Peter's making, he doesn't know.

He jerks his chin to Norman next to him. ' _Well, what should we do?'_ He throws a thumb point for good measure.

Harry does... _something._ Cradling a baby maybe? Or, building a bridge? Calling 911? After fifteen seconds of silent miming, Harry finally whisper-hisses, " _We should support him_ ," from his position six feet away. It's then that Peter's reminded of his friend's horrible charade skills. Norman sighs.

"That's great, Mr. Osborn!" Peter says, "I'm glad you've, uh, embraced that part of yourself." Was that too much? What do you say to your best friend's dad that just came out? Should he play lowkey? But if he played too lowkey he might not get it, being from a different generation and all. God, this is too surreal.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm glad you're comfortable enough to tell us," says Harry. He abandons his post next to the bookshelf and walks over, putting a hand on his dad's shoulder. "If you want, you can tell us about him. I don't think you've ever mentioned liking someone since mom died, and I'd like to hear about whoever actually caught _your_ attention."

The next several minutes was very much an out-of-body experience. Stiltedly, Norman described the man that, as he described it: 'He admired and respected very much, not that he would ever notice.' Which was a doozy of a sentence in a million ways and Peter tried not to think about too much because it sounded like Norman Osborn was _pining; yearning; A middle school girl in the middle of puberty -_ and that was NOT an image he needed in his head, thank you very much.

So the man in question as Norman described in the concisest way possible: big with broad shoulders, a fellow businessman, a little ruthless but has a soft side for those he cares about.

"It sounds like he's describing those, like, tsundere anime characters in otome anime," Peter whispered to Harry.

"You watch too much anime," Harry whispered back.

"Guilty as charged but, also: tell me I'm wrong."

Harry stayed tellingly silent.

The rest of the day was spent continuing game night and intermittently reassuring Norman that he and his feelings were valid. Overall, it was one of the more...memorable game nights at Oscorp Tower.

.

Later that night, Harry accompanied Peter to the front doors of the Tower. They were riding down the elevator, quiet save for the generic elevator music, when Peter decided to speak up.

"That was…"

"Very weird?" Harry finished.

"Yeah." Peter eyed Harry who stood, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world unbothered. "How are you not freaking out? I mean, not that- I'm not assuming- There's nothing wrong with-" Foot meet mouth. Peter trucked on regardless, "But _Norman Osborn_ has a _**crush.**_ Like, a genuine high school-ish crush. I feel like the world should be ending or something."

Harry shrugged and then did something that only topped this bizarro pie with a peculiar cherry on top. He smiled. "I don't know, I mean, I guess it is really weird when I think about it, but it's… it's human. It's proof that he's human, same as you and me. I know he's changed a lot and he's gotten better, but there's still some times where it's - where I think it's too good to be true, but this is…"

Harry glanced down, and the smile faded from his face like snow melting on the burner. Peter knocked his shoulders with Harry's. "Hey, no, I get it. Yeah, from that angle, I can see why this is a good thing. Just still can't believe it. _Stormin' Norman_ with an honest-t'-God _crush."_

There was that smile, small and meek but growing stronger, "Yeah, it's pretty unbelievable."

.

Two weeks later found them at a charity gala-type event. Peter had never been fond of dressing up as a monkey in a rented suit but Norman said Harry had to go and Harry wanted support, and so support he would get. It didn't hurt that the food was free either. Norman had only come by the buffet table to tell them to socialize and stop looking like, " _two boys whose dates ditched them at prom_ ," when he stopped mid-sentence.

"There he is," Norman gasped. His hand slackened, and the flute of champagne seemed dangerously close to falling to the floor. Peter quickly tugged it out of his hand and set it atop the table. Then he turned to find who 'he' was. It had to be Norman's crush, he'd never heard Norman gasp like a lovesick teen before, so... Big, broad shoulders, fellow businessman, a little ruthless… Next to him, Harry was lifting to his tip-toes, as if the extra inch could help him spot one specific businessman in a room full of suits.

Hmm, there were only a few people in the general direction Norman was staring at. Couldn't be the reedy guy. The guy with the glasses had narrow shoulders. That guy didn't seem all that ruthless and-

Oh.

Oh no.

"It's not him, is it? The big guy over there with the bodyguards?"

"Yes," Norman said, all his breath leaving him in one gigantic, lovestruck gust, "Yes, that's him."

Peter nodded as if it made sense. Then he quickly latched his hand around Harry's elbow and pulled him to the nearest dark corner.

"That's Wilson Fisk."

"Huh?"

"That's _Wilson Fisk._ The Kingpin. The biggest bad of organized crime there is in New York. He keeps trying to kill me once every other week. Your dad's _in love_ with Wilson Fisk."

Harry stuttered and sputtered and all the other s-words. "Are you saying they're not a good couple?"

"First off," Peter clapped his hands together and lowered them to point at Harry, blinking the shock out as if it were a physical thing obscuring his eyes, "they're not a couple. Second off, might I reiterate, _the guy you're dad's in love with is a crime lord."_

"Really?" asked Harry skeptically.

" _Really_ ," stressed Peter.

And then, because life wasn't weird enough already, Harry folded his arms and said, "I want to hear Dad's story on this," as if _Peter_ was the abnormal one.

.

"So, Dad," Harry asked later, on the limousine ride back home, "how did you meet Mr. Fisk?"

Peter sat back in his cushy car seat and sighed.

Norman smiled a besotted smile. Peter had watched as Norman and Wilson talked for a good half an hour during the gala and while he had respected their privacy by not eavesdropping - i.e. Harry wouldn't let him eavesdrop - he had grown sick of the contortions Norman's face went through when he was 'in full bloom.' It was gross. Like watching Aunt May and Coulson but, like, a thousand times worse, if that was possible.

"Well," Norman started, "we met at a very private military showing. He had hired some goons but, of course, I was a few steps ahead of him and already installed my henchmen _months_ ago-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Peter sat up and leaned in, "so you _do_ know he's a war criminal?"

Norman blinked and nodded as if to say, ' _Of course, I know. Doesn't everybody?'_ which, to be fair, everybody did except, apparently, for one oblivious Harry Osborn.

"And you have no - I don't know - _moral dilemmas_ about wanting to date a bad guy?"

"Not really," stated the _multimillionaire CEO responsible for a quarter of New York's livelihoods,_ "We all do illegal things now and again."

There were times, brief but growing longer as time created distance, that Peter forgot what Norman was like; that Peter forgot Norman wasn't always the loving father who hosted game nights and lost at video games. And then there were times like this, where he remembered: Oh yeah, his best friend's dad tried to murder him multiple times.

_._

"I don't know, I still think they could be a good couple."

Peter grabbed the nearest pillow: fluffy, luxuriant, downright sinful how soft and comfy and _expensive_ it was, and pulled it over his face. He then screamed for a good ten seconds before bolting upright to pitch the soft, cushiony goodness at his best friend's face.

"He's a bad guy!" he shouted.

"Well, he could change," reasoned Harry. "People are capable of change, Peter. Maybe Dad can convince him to see the error of his ways and, I don't know, join the right side."

Peter closed his eyes and inhaled. He exhaled. He straightened his back and placed his hands, fingers intertwined, on his lap, and opened his eyes. His voice came out soft; diplomatic. Like a therapist at the end of their rope but clutching at the threads of sanity in the hopes that somehow more rope would appear.

"I think," he said slowly, "that somehow your father's miraculous and sometimes downright _convenient_ change of character has given you unrealistic expectations on the flexibility of other people's internal alignment. Yes, your dad has changed but that doesn't mean Wilson Fisk is capable, or even willing, to change directions even _with_ help."

"But Dad said he had a soft, gooey center-"

"It's never going to happen, Harry!" yelled Peter before grabbing the _other_ sinfully soft pillow on the bed and screaming into it.

.

Strangely enough, it began happening. It happen. It was currently happening. Norman was talking to Wilson Fisk on a regular basis and Wilson Fisk _seemed_ to be responding in a positive manner. Peter made sure to steer clear and made sure the conversation steered clear. It only took one time of accidentally walking in on Norman talking to Wilson, " _Willy,"_ over the phone for him to have nothing to do with it.

But of course, he couldn't really avoid the topic if two of the three in the conversation kept wanting to talk about it.

.

"I think… I might be having a date with Wilson soon."

"That's great, Dad!" exclaimed Harry.

' _That's horrible,'_ Peter would've exclaimed if he weren't too busy choking on his gourmet chicken.

"Thank you, son. I'll be honest, I wasn't sure he'd be so interested in me. I mean, he's been acting so distant lately, but I think I've finally reeled him in with my charms."

"Oh? How did it go down? Tell me everything!"

Peter thumped his chest as his eyes watered. What a way to go. Death via chicken. He always knew poultry would get him sooner or later. He reached for his glass of water and took a few careful sips.

"Well, don't get too excited. There is somewhat of a catch."

"What is it?"

"I might've told him... I've successfully kidnapped Spider-Man."

And cue water spray.

.

"No, no way. No how. _No_ -"

"C'mon, Pete, this is my dad's one chance at true love. You won't even have to be kidnapped that long, you just have to make it convincing enough to impress Fisk-"

"Are you even listening to yourself? _True love?_ Harry, there's like, a million people in New York alone. Your dad can fall for someone that's _not one of my villains-"_

"Peter, it's his one chance to make a good chance and get out of the friendzone-"

"One, don't ever use the word friendzone. Two, don't ever use friendzone in context to your _dad._ Three, what is going on? I feel like I've been tossed into an alternate dimension. Is that what this is, an alternate dimension? Oh no, don't- don't do that-"

Don't fall for the puppy eyes, Parker. Don't fall for the puppy eyes.

"Please?" said Harry, pushing his lower lip out into a pout.

Dammit.

"You owe me big time, Osborn."

.

It occurs to Peter, as the wrist and ankle cuffs were locked into place, that this could've been all a part of the grand scheme. Norman: fakes being good for a couple months, says something to the tunes of true love. Harry: closeted romantic at heart and, honestly, very easily manipulated, listens closely and enforces himself as true love advocate. Peter: smart of brain but dumb of ass, follows reluctantly and then BAM.

Easy Spider-Man delivery for the bad guys. Bad guys being Norman Osborn who's been plotting this the entire time and Wilson Fisk who he does not like-like because that's downright _preposterous_. How could he ever buy into a lie like that?

He tests the cuffs' durability with his strength and it creaks warningly at the pressure, as in, he could probably tear himself free at any moment. Which is good because that means he's not really kidnapped.

Which is bad because this means it's _real._ The whole matchmaking between Norman Osborn and Wilson Fisk is _real._

Five minutes into blankly looking at the water-stained ceiling, Wilson Fisk and Norman Osborn walk in. Wilson does the whole villain, ' _I'm better than you'_ spiel but it's interspersed with him praising Norman and Norman eating it up like a sunflower. There is also, Peter barfs into his mask a little, a lot of pet names, ideas for vacation houses in different countries, and, oh god, talks of _business mergers_. Ugh. He glances over at one point to find Norman looking at him from behind Fisks' outrageously large silhouette.

 _How are you holding up?_ Norman asks worriedly via charades. It's a good thing they've been playing charades pretty regularly, because in this light with those gestures, he would've thought Norman was about to kill him. He gives a thumbs up when Fisk's not looking and then flops back down so hard his head rebounds off of the padded chair-cushion he's been cuffed to.

Why is this his life?

**Author's Note:**

> If you've actually read through this I applaud you and your strength.


End file.
